


In Which Greg Lestrade is a Hunter

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: AU-gust 2020 [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Diogenes Club, Established Relationship, Hunter Greg Lestrade, M/M, Man of Letters (-ish) Mycroft Holmes, Supernatural AU - Freeform, like an AU based on the show Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Greg leaned heavily against the door frame, trying to will his heartbeat back to its normal rhythm. “I should have known I couldn’t keep anything from you.” He nodded toward the occult and supernatural books he had tucked away in his guest room. “Do you know about all of this?”Mycroft looked amused. “Remind me next time you’re at the Diogenes to take you down to the basement. It’s the largest depository of lore and cursed objects on the island.”Greg felt his eyebrows shoot up before he could stop them. “Your club? Really?”
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: AU-gust 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870924
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	In Which Greg Lestrade is a Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 26, 2020 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/627575285048623104/au-gust-26-monster-hunters-au)

“So,” Greg said, unlocking his apartment door and turning to give his companion his best come-hither look, “Coffee?”

Mycroft laughed, eyes bright. It was the rough, unpracticed sound that Greg was enamored of. The one that showed him a side of his normally straight-laced boyfriend that no one else got to see. “I’d be delighted.”

“Marvelous,” Greg said, pulling Mycroft into the apartment behind him and reaching past him to shut the door. This brought him back into Mycroft’s personal space. “Shall I put a pot on?” he asked quietly.

“Why don’t you,” Mycroft told him, smile audible. “That way we can give this liaison an air of civility at least.”

Greg huffed a laugh. “An air of civility, you say?” He leaned in and gave Mycroft a slow chaste kiss. “If you insist.”

He stepped away and walked into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” he called. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Take your time,” Mycroft told him. “I’m sure I can occupy myself while you’re foraging for coffee.”

Greg grinned at his lover’s playfulness. Humming under his breath, he puttered around the kitchen and set the pot to start brewing.

“Myc?” he called, strolling out of the kitchen in search of his wayward partner. It wasn’t that big of an apartment, but Mycroft was being suspiciously quiet.

He found him in the spare room where Greg kept all sorts of odds and ends: the old-fashioned daybed his mother had foisted on him that he’d stuffed in the corner so he could pretend it was a guest room; a couple boxes of cold case files he’d borrowed from Scotland Yard and hadn’t returned yet because he could almost taste the break in the case; the remnants of the half-dozen hobbies he’d picked up and quickly discarded because he didn’t have time; and his collection of resources for his newest hobby, which seemed to be much more difficult to give up.

It was the last that Mycroft was perusing. The bottom two shelves of a bookcase were filled with an eclectic mix of ancient leather-bound volumes, half-satirical pamphlets, newer paperbacks, and hand-written journals.

Greg froze and felt himself grow pale when he saw Mycroft leaning over and actually reading the spines of the books. Oh god. He wished he’d planned ahead better. This wasn’t exactly how Greg had wanted to tell Mycroft what he’d been up to for the past eight months.

Mycroft’s smile when he caught sight of him was at odds with the panicked tempo of Greg’s pulse. “Gregory! There you are.”

He tapped the spine of one of the hardcovers that Greg recognized as a reprint of a nineteenth-century treatise on vampires, spirits, and other beasts that stalked the night. “Pendleton is a decent source, if Euro-centric,” Mycroft informed him. “You should see if you can find a copy of Nouri. He’s drier, but has a more holistic view. In addition to making some very insightful connections between various pieces of local lore, he also includes more information on weaknesses and traditional methods of dispatchment for a multitude of creatures.”

Greg just stared at him, his brain sluggishly trying to keep up with the conversation. He felt as stupid as Sherlock accused him of being. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Mycroft’s smile dimmed. “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Greg leaned heavily against the door frame. “I guess not,” he said wryly, trying to will his heartbeat back to its normal rhythm. “I should have known I couldn’t keep anything from you.” He nodded toward the bookcase. “Do you know about all of this?”

Mycroft looked amused. “Remind me next time you’re at the Diogenes to take you down to the basement. It’s the largest depository of lore and cursed objects on the island and one of the most comprehensive in Europe.”

Greg felt his eyebrows shoot up before he could stop them. “Your club? Really?”

Mycroft’s smile widened to show a hint a teeth. “Yes, really. One of my ancestors, for whom I was named, founded the Diogenes Club over two hundred years ago. Our purpose is to collect the informative and safeguard the dangerous. We also serve as a sort of library for hunters like yourself who have knowledge of us and wish to utilize our resources.”

“And the silence thing?” Greg asked, trying not to focus on the phrase _hunters like yourself_. He hadn’t know there was a name for who he had become. It had started with a serial killer in Chelsea that turned out to be a vampire nest, and by the time he’d looked back, he was too far in it to quit.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the point of having a secret if you can’t keep it?”

Greg huffed a laugh. “Fair point.”

He was about to ask a question about the library - were there really that many books on the occult and supernatural? - but the faint beeping of the coffee maker interrupted him.

“We’re not done talking about this,” he warned Mycroft with a smile, reaching out a hand.

Mycroft took it, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Looking forward to it.”

Greg laughed and pulled Mycroft behind him out of the spare room and toward the kitchen.


End file.
